and then after reading the Afterward by Michael Chabon to his little swashbuckling Jewish
adventure tale, “Gentlemen of the Road”. A
tiny door opened inside my timid brain. A mouse finally had the courage to turn
the knob and emerge into the bright-light with a daunting idea to use my
impending house purchase as a vessel for creative adventures, not just as
shelter and safe haven.

That’s
right! This Friday I’m about to close on a little house in the center of Peacham,
Vermont, my beloved adopted hometown. Here it is: Ta-Da! You can use the link directly below to see the rooms inside:

Needs
an outside paint job which will happen in late Spring, but it’s well built by
hand, with mid-century modern touches, a linoleum floor in the kitchen/dining room
just begging to be a studio, and no worries about splattered paint. It comes
with an acre and a half of land, a barn and a lovely raftered empty space over the garage with possibilities.

It
turns out I’m not a brave person. When I learned in October that my rental
apartment along a forested dirt road in Peacham would not be available after May 1st, I pulled
emotionally inward from fear of change and loneliness. I wanted my family to be nearby
to pat my hand and give me advice.I began an anxious search for other rentals in the area, weighing options nightly at 2am
while staring at the stars from my bedroom window.

Rentals are not abundant in
a small town of 720 people. The thought of moving to another village scared me. I
love this sharing, earthy community, and all my new friends.

To
regain my equilibrium, and quell my anxiety, I had to down-regulate from my
daily painting regimen and stop offering my volunteer services. During those 2
am episodes of wild insomniac mind, I re-discovered my Confirmation rosary and a
book of contemplations, “Comfortable with Uncertainty”, by the American
Buddhist nun, Pema Chodrun.The meditation
reflections, and my prayerful recitations on the rosary gave me some control. I can see why some folks call them "worry beads". It worked to soften my mental suffering! So does a sky full of stars.

I
considered renting a “tiny house” still under construction on the outskirts of
Peacham. It was new, aesthetically beautiful, and full of light upstairs.

After days of
agonizing, I knew I’d be too isolated and further away from friends and in-town
life. The rental price was right, but I would be miserable.

One
of my sanity strategies was not to decide, but just walk – walk, walk, walk – up
and down the hilly woodland roads. I asked friends for advice. Many helped. I
tried seeing the situation humorously (no luck there). I needed to take action.
Logic kept telling me to rent the lonely house on the hill because it was a
cool design and the rental price was right. An imaginary finger wagged in my
head that I’m too old for home ownership and all the headaches.

Then one morning another brain-snap cracked me open. I was reading an
article in bed from a recent Art in America magazine about an artist who creates
installations in her studio. (Her name escapes me.) Something clicked. I realized I could make
installations inside the little in-town Peacham house that was still for sale, or
make a small apartment upstairs to rent out if my finances turn out to be
inadequate. I could live like I want among friends and close neighbors. I
called my realtor and made an offer that day. I followed my heart, and turned a
scary situation into something fat, full of possibility and maybe transformation.
I’m still not sure, and still worried, but that’s OK.

I had
been picked by Andrea Rosen, the curator from the Fleming Museum at the University of Vermont to be included in an exhibition of sixty-one local and New England artists.
It felt good to “win”. I showed two fabric sculptures created before I moved to Vermont.

Getting in the show stirred
up the bones of another creature I’d made years earlier –“Miss Perfect”, a trickster
masking the little Catholic schoolgirl in a blue jumper and white blouse who
just wanted to please.

Academy of St. Aloysius Grammar School uniform made from memory, 2011

What
did not feel good was “losing” during the awards ceremony mid-way through the art show. I would like to declare that it doesn’t matter, that I’m an artist just
for the fun and fulfillment of creating, but I discover again and again that
pride, PRIDE is laughing in a prominent corner of my brain. I try, but he
(she?) will not relinquish my neural core. I can see her though. Some would say
that everything is a game. We learn the unstated rules, then elbow or
co-operate our way through life. Poets like Maya Angelou, I Know Why theCaged Bird Sings, and
Rumi remind us of the cages of power and social norms–

Don’t
get me wrong. The winners’ artworks were good. I smiled and clapped, but I was
not happy.

“There
is no key. There is no key.”

I’m
quoting here again from Aravind Adiga’s wonderfully disturbing novel, The
White Tiger about the roles and the rules of survival between the haves and
have-nots in contemporary Indian society. There is a deadly comedy to this game
of winning and losing inside the metaphorical “Rooster Coop”–an unlocked cage
stuffed with chickens waiting to be sold in the markets for dinner. The poor
creatures do not see that the door is open!

Trapped_25in x38in_Ink and acrylic wash on paper_1994

This goes for America too of course, down to my nascent
wishes and desires. I know a few people who seem outside of the cage. I admire
them and sometimes see glimpses of light in myself.

In all fairness to me, I’m
inching along on that enlightened path.Age,
self-kindness and experience in the world tell me to go easy on the self-blame.

So, as Spring bursts from the starting gate, I’m at the
window again contemplating the wish or need to be a perfect winner as the creatures and
things in nature win and lose, live and die on a daily basis around me. What I see is a
wild raucous balance. Some say it’s survival of the fittest, but to me there is
a powerful balancing act between the parts and the whole of everything . There is
no cage.

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Welcome

Welcome to my blog. The Interwoven Heart is an artist's search for meaning in the face of death. I am turning the gaze beneath appearances in an attempt to discover the nature of self, being and non-being. My hope is for transformation. My current paintings, drawings, earthworks and performances are visual explorations of this journey. Join me in sharing ideas, images and insights along the way.

Cecelia Kane becoming an ancient maple

Counting the Eyes on the Cosmic Heart

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Please be aware that all images and words, unless otherwise indicated, are the property of the author of this blog and may not be reproduced or shared without written authorization of the author. Some work may be available for sale - please contact the artist with any inquiries.

Cecelia Kane - Art and Performance Portfolios

About Me

I am a visual and performance artist on a spiritual path. I'm a mother and grandmother. My work is the manifestation of my search for self-definition and meaning in the face of death.
Lately I’ve been exploring the nature of being and existence in paintings and drawings that imagine Love as a multi-layered, interconnected cosmic essence inhabited by hearts, wings, eyes, plants and patterns. It is a search for God. Obsession, repetition and daily record keeping often occur in my art making process. I use my own body, clothing, fabric work, video, performance, voice, sculpture, painting and drawing to explore the intersection of good and evil and the collision of loss and transformation.